Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Emma Chang
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Ellery Rosenzweig
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I
n
my
immigration
law
class
this
week,
we
watched
a
video
about the Bracero
Program, in which
U.S.
agriculture
industrialists
essentially
recruited
men
from
Mexico
to
do
“stoop
labor,”
or
the
more
undesirable
farming
jobs.
The
video
was
obviously a piece
of propaganda created by the
California Growers Council,
attempting
to
assert
the
legitimacy of the Bracero
Program. On the worksheet
we were given to analyze
the video, there was one
question
that
seemed
to
baffle the whole class: “What
was the role of women in the
Bracero Program?” The only
explicit reference to women
in the video was when the
video attempted to convince
the American public that
the
Bracero
Program
benefited
Americans:
“Who benefits?” the video
asks. “Housewives!” This,
of course, references the
fact that women do the
grocery shopping, and the
Bracero
Program
ensures
that Americans can have
fresh fruits and vegetables
year round. When a student
raised their hand and asked
the
professor
what
the
deal was, he reminded us
of the housewife comment,
and then said, “You know,
it’s interesting that we’re
focusing so much on the
male aspect of the Bracero
Program,
because
there
is a rich history of female
Filipina
and
Mexican
agricultural
laborers
and
truck drivers who organized
and unionized for fair wages
and
other
labor
rights.”
Now,
I
don’t
fault
the
professor for not telling us
more: The polar vortex put
everyone a week behind, and
a lot of professors are still
scrambling to make up the
material. But that comment
did get me thinking: Just
how
many
women
have
been reduced to footnotes
in the pages of history?
How many women’s names
have been lost to time —
accomplishments
forgotten
by everyone except their
children
and
grandchildren?
There’s
a
saying
that
gets
circulated around
the internet every
so often, attributed
to everyone from
Marilyn Monroe to
Eleanor Roosevelt,
and
it
goes,
“Well-behaved
women
seldom
make
history.”
I
see
this
quote
everywhere,
whether it’s being used to
describe Susan B. Anthony
or Cardi B. Whether it’s
civil disobedience or just
trying to have a good time,
this quote resonates with
so
many
women
today,
women hoping to escape the
constraints put on them by
society. The quote’s origins
are not quite as famous as
Marilyn
Monroe:
Laurel
Thatcher Ulrich, a professor
of
American
history
at
Harvard, coined the phrase
in her 1976 paper “Vertuous
Women Found: New England
Ministerial
Literature,
1668-1735.” The context of
the quote is a discussion
of women in the highly
religious,
Protestant,
and
often Puritan, New England
society. Cotton Mather, a
prominent
Puritan
writer
and my favorite witch hunter,
called these women “the
Hidden Ones,” women who
hoped not to be remembered
by history, but by God as they
awaited eternal judgement,
hoping that he saw their
faith and piety on Earth.
These women will not get
roads, schools, town halls or
buildings named after them,
but they are the cornerstones
on which their communities
are built. They have quite
literally made history.
“Every
woman
who’s
ashamed of her body is a
victim of torture,” writes
playwright Carolyn Gage in
“The Second Coming of Joan
of Arc.” “Every woman who
doubts her own judgement is
a victim of torture. So how
many women do you know
who
haven’t
been
pulled
apart?”
Perhaps I ought to have
a
greater
thesis
about
womanhood
and
what
it
means to break free from
the
constraints
of
being
“well-behaved.”
Perhaps
I have something greater
to say about the fact that
women must be “likeable”
to be leaders, that though
women
no
longer
wear
corsets
and
hoop
skirts,
we are physically bound by
the constraints of makeup
and high heels necessary to
perform femininity.
I’m sure somewhere in
me, I do. But right now,
I
am
mostly
just
tired.
The performance of being
a
woman
is
exhausting.
Many
find
comfort
and
empowerment
in
this
performance, others delight
in subverting with it and
playing with what it means,
and for that I commend
them. But I am tired of this
performance. I am tired of
being pulled apart by what
I am supposed to be. The
women who made history,
the ones who were not well-
behaved, were simply tired
of being canaries in a coal
mine. While we celebrate
women who have broken the
mold and have spoken out in
the face of great opposition
and violence, I wish we
would also remember the
women
who
fought
the
good fight in silence, who
contributed
what
they
could
with
the
limited
opportunities
they
had,
without expecting anything
in return.
Caroline Llanes can be reached at
cmllanes@umich.edu
KRYSTAL HUR | COLUMN
The strangest age of all
I
turned
20
years
old
last month, and it was
just
as
lackluster
an
experience
as
the
other
milestone
birthdays
that
films like “Sixteen Candles”
and “Hannah Montana: The
Movie” promised would be
exciting. Like the elusive
Sweet 16 bash that no one
seems to actually host in
real life, my 20th birthday
lacked
any
fanfare
that
would perhaps be expected
from a day that signaled
my graduation from being a
teenager to being in my 20s.
It’s not that I was expecting
to
have
a
big
party
or
celebration; I’m not a huge
fan of either, and I enjoyed
the cozy night in that my
friends and I had to celebrate.
However, I had expected to
feel a little older and perhaps
more like an adult as a result.
Instead,
turning
20
only brought forth a whole
new set of questions and
insecurities to supplement
the
ones
Ihad
already
accumulated over my teenage
years. I almost feel like I’m
in the beginning stages of a
quarter-life crisis; I’m 20,
and yet it feels as though
I haven’t accomplished as
much as I should have. I’ve
also realized that most of
my
accomplishments
are
tied to my academic career,
which is great for my resume,
but useless otherwise. As
cliché
and
unnecessarily
dramatic as this question
is, if someone were to make
a tombstone for me today,
what would be written on it?
“Well-rounded student”? Or
maybe, “Involved in several
extracurriculars”?
Other
than
bringing
forth a slew of unanswerable
questions,
being
20
also
just feels awkward because
I’m not a teenager but still
can’t legally drink. While
I don’t feel like a child
anymore (which I’m aware
is something that a child
would say), and I haven’t
in a while, I certainly don’t
feel like an adult either. I’m
not expecting to suddenly
feel like an adult once I turn
21, but being able to drink
legally is at least some kind
of noticeable way in which
my growing older will be
recognized. Such a change is
nonexistent when turning 20.
Being stripped of teenage-
hood
doesn’t
count
since
it doesn’t do anything but
cause a shift in demographic
placement and contribute to
an identity crisis. I’m sure
I’m not alone in feeling like
I’m
in
limbo,
somewhere
between being a real adult
and a child — like I’m floating
between two distinct age
groups I’m excluded from.
The truth is, though, that
I do belong in an age group —
I’m in my 20s. This has also
lent itself to revelations that
made me feel simultaneously
extremely young and old.
Celebrities, whom I grew
up watching on screen and
therefore always perceived
as being much older, can
now be classified in the same
age group as me. Jennifer
Lawrence and I are both
in our 20s. So are Taylor
Swift and Emma Watson.
They were teens when I was
in elementary school, and
entered their 20s at about the
time I celebrated having an
age that was two digits, and
now we’re in the same age
group. We won’t be for long,
since they will inevitably
enter their 30s, but that only
serves as a reminder that the
next time I enter a new age
group will be when I turn 30
— only 10 years away.
My friends also expressed
similar feelings regarding my
age on my birthday, quipping
that I’m “so old” now. These
friends are all younger than
me or are 19 going on 20 this
year, and I have no doubt
that
my
birthday
caused
them to realize that they,
too, will leave their teenage
years
sooner
rather
than
later. Their reactions show
that I’m not only the one
who feels this way. Being 20
is a pregame for adulthood,
and it invokes contradictory
feelings and thoughts for a
lot of people, it seems. I’m
sure there are people who
have no such thoughts when
turning 20, but the majority
of us are probably cognizant
of what it represents: the
last stretch in the transition
between
childhood
and
adulthood. After we cross
that last stretch, there’s no
going
back.
Whether
we
choose to act like adults or
not, the law will eventually
bestow us with privileges
reserved
only
for
people
who are supposedly mature
enough to handle them.
Being 20 isn’t a hardship,
and the quirks that come with
it aren’t tangibly burdensome.
Since my birthday has passed,
I don’t think about my age too
often, either. It’s more just a
strange detail about myself
that confuses me when I do
remember. I’m starting to
believe that the reason people
are so eager to turn 21 isn’t
because they want to be able
to drink legally, but because
doing so lifts the last of
age-related bans and firmly
sends them into adulthood.
At 21, I can drink legally,
buy cigarettes and I can even
apply to be on “The Bachelor”
(though the franchise’s last
few choices of bachelors have
been discouraging, to say
the least). But to put reality
shows aside, I hope turning
21 isn’t as disappointing as
turning 20.
Krystal Hur can be reached at
kryshur@umich.edu.
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“
Take a deep breath,” my
mom used to say.
This
was
always
one of the first suggestions
offered when I would come
to my mom about how I was
overwhelmed — when I did
not know how to approach
the ominous to-do list that
sometimes felt too daunting
to begin.
As I later realized, the
things I had to get done were
not truly as scary as they
appeared, but rather very
possible, once I got past the
initial fear factor. As life
moved on, my tasks began
to pile up, and the number
of commitments I had grew,
but,
following
my
mom’s
advice, I felt like everything
was
within
reason
if
I
approached everything with
a sense of calm.
Coming to college, this
to-do list grew even more.
I
suddenly
found
myself
rushing around at a rate
I had never experienced.
The
regimented,
stable
schedule of the past was
no longer, but rather, life
had become always subject
to change. It was not the
level of involvement or the
inconsistency of my schedule
that became difficult for me,
but finding time for myself.
As we find ourselves in
the throes of the semester,
with
midterm
exams,
papers,
projects
and
other commitments, I can
personally attest to the fact
that I have pushed self-care
to the side. Things get busier,
there are higher stakes on
assignments and the general
amounts of work and snow
simultaneously continue to
pile up. I understand that
the hectic nature of college
is to be expected. I also
understand
that
handling
this does not pose a quandary
for everyone, but I feel like
in the hustle and bustle of
every day, I forget to take
five minutes to just be.
Recently,
my
friends
and I were recapping our
days and arrived at this
realization
that,
in
this
high-stress time, we could
not remember the last time
that
any
of
us
stopped,
took
a
deep
breath
and
maybe even did something
for
ourselves.
Maybe
we
forget
sometimes.
Maybe,
in the midst of everything,
it does not register that
even the slightest means of
slowing
our
productivity
is
a
possibility.
We
can
press pause, and remember
that, for example, sleeping,
watching
an
episode
of
television,
listening
to
a
podcast or going on a run —
though not when it’s too icy
— are all things that can help
make our to-do lists a little
less daunting and improve
morale in the process.
Taking time for ourselves
does not have to be a grand
heist of time or resources; it
can be something small. It
does not have to hinder our
abilities to finish our work or
attend that meeting, but can
be an incentive to get those
things done.
This semester has proved
the
busiest
I
have
ever
had and has led me to the
understanding
that
there
is always something else to
work on. There is always an
exam to prepare for or an
event to attend. Those things
are not going to go away.
But it is actively choosing to
sometimes prioritize my own
well-being — my need for a
break — that will serve as the
most beneficial in the long
term.
I feel as though in this
bubble in which we live here
at the University of Michigan,
sometimes it is easy for me to
forget that I can take a step
back. I do have the choice to
make time for myself, even
if it feels like said time is
a luxury, because though
it may not be finishing my
paper 20 minutes sooner,
I will equally benefit from
giving myself that break and
doing something to break up
the routine.
It is with this that I
challenge myself to make
time, to put my work to the
side and give myself the time
and space to decompress
before continuing on. Being
completely candid, this is
something that I am fairly
vocal
about
but
struggle
with in practice. Moving
forward, into the rest of
the semester, onto the next
and into life, I know that
stressors
will
be
forever
present,
and
expectations
will always accompany them.
With this, I want to begin to
form this positive habit of
giving myself the option to
take a break, or break with
the schedule that seems so
logistically coordinated that
there could not possibly be
a moment to stop. As tasks
become checks in the box,
I have to remember that my
well-being
and
ability
to
feel as though I can handle
everything that comes my
way is the most important,
even if making time for
myself is as simple as just
taking a deep breath.
Take some time
SAMANTHA SZUHAJ | COLUMN
Samantha Szuhaj can be reached at
szuhajs@umich.edu.
CAROLINE LLANES | COLUMN
(Not so) silently making history
CAROLINE
LLANES
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Just how many
women have
been reduced to
footnotes in the
pages of history?
I almost feel
like I’m in the
beginning of a
quarter-life crisis